


Rum

by justwritingwords



Category: Lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 14:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14979170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwritingwords/pseuds/justwritingwords
Summary: One-shot: Kate ends up back on the island instead of Sawyer when the helicopter is going down.





	Rum

Arduous thoughts and guilty realisations stir aimlessly in the glass bottle that has begun to weigh heavy in your right hand. The surly scent of the light brown liquid begins to make your stomach turn, spilling out all of the shattered empathies you could once hold together. The vast blues of the island’s sky is scattered with a streak of unnatural grey and from its golden glow the fervent sun’s heat rains down upon you, scorching deeply at your pale skin. You feel the sun’s scratching claws bite deeper into every pour the longer you sit in its taunting view. Even the glass bottle is sweating unmercifully under its powerful gaze, while the contents are less than favourable now that they’ve turned tepid. Yet you still grip the clear neck in comfort, as your eyes draw unreasonable images across the shadows of the horizon. 

Your fallen heart has grown silent, all the uncontrollable urges to cry out at the scene prevailing before you have all since disappeared with every sip from the glass bottle. Yet your mind has turned distinctively numb, unable to fathom out what your eyes are showing you. All in all the familiar touch of soft sand, the sounds of calming ripples of water against the louder collapses of waves, and the never ending view of the island’s beastly nature, leaves you seeping further into your resonating disappointment. 

It doesn’t matter who was out there on the darkening shadows covering the horizon’s eye. It never has. It only matters what was out there; your way home. You watch it being torn apart into fragile fragments, littering the clear sky as if it were a neon sign just for your benefit. You casually lift the bottle to your lips, a sticky residue lingers on the rim of the glass from the sweltering heat. You wince gingerly at the sharp sweetness that invades your mouth. It’s been a long time since you’ve tasted any type of alcohol, and you’re thankful for its numbing quality, but somehow you remember better flavours from your past. 

Your eyes flicker unsteadily out into the waters, momentarily distracted from the horizon’s deeply carved line where you’ve been looking for so long now. You instantly think you’re mistaken, assuming that the rum has already started to affect you and tricking you foolishly into believing that you’ve seen someone out in the ocean’s current. Squinting against the insane brightness that the sun folds uncaringly into your eyes, you wait patiently to call yourself an idiotic liar. 

Amazement drips down your forehead, cascading ruthlessly into your eyes, as you watch Kate drag herself out from the shallow waters from the tide’s struggling grasp on her. You were sure that she had managed to save herself that she had gained herself a one way ticket back home. You can’t comprehend why she’s traded it in to return to the island that promises everything, yet holds nothing. Whatever her reason you hope it’s a good one. You don’t think you could bear having to listen to her talk about giving up her place on the helicopter because she didn’t want to leave the island. Not when you’ve been sitting here all this time wishing you had at least been on the ship. Even that would have been an accomplishment; you would have been one step closer to home at the very least. But as your eyes drift casually back to the looming cloud of black smoke that hugs the far off distance, you reason with yourself to conclude that you’re being foolish in your depressing tones.

You don’t speak. You’re afraid that if you open your mouth to let spill all the anxious questions of confusion that possesses your ferreting mind, the image of the sodden brunette trudging up the beach will somehow brutally erase itself and you’ll be once again left to burn in your deepening solitude. The closer she gets the more pronounced the hardened lines in her pale face become. The usually delicate edges of her eyes are taught with a dejected sorrow, while her scarlet laced lips are curled upwards a fraction more than they should be in a poor attempt to acknowledge you with a broken smile. 

She brushes her right hand casually over her forehead, wiping away the clinging sea water that splashes down in drips from her soaking hair. She looks tired, you conclude, and you know it’s not just the long swim she’s endured that is to blame. It doesn’t take an explanation from Kate for you to understand that she’s tired of returning back to this island, probably exhausted of seeing the familiar rock that she’s been kept on all this time. You don’t need her to say because you know how it feels. You already know the pure fatigue that trips into your daily routine whenever you open your eyes to see the island’s coveting curtain wrapping you up so tightly that it’s impossible to ignore its presence. With that thought needling its way through to the forefront of your mind, you raise the glass bottle in a sour toast of defeat that you’ve finally lost to the island’s whim. 

“I didn’t take you for being a drinker.” There isn’t even a flicker in your eyes when you hear her soft voice fill the air around you with subtle criticism, yet you’re inwardly surprised that she hasn’t chosen to jump straight into wanting to know what’s happened with the rescue boats. You assume she must have heard the commotion while she had been in the water, she must have turned at some point in quiet disappointment and consequently seen the disaster that litters the unhealthily grey skyline now. So you think this is just Kate’s dry attempt at making light of the grave situation. You’re only slightly aware that she’s still staring at you in expectance of a reply from you, probably searching your blank face for an evaluation on your mindset, so you just shrug your shoulders at her lamely for the lack of a better response.

“Isn’t it a bit early to start the celebrations anyway?” she says dubiously, dropping herself casually into the sand just beside her. There’s a small tremor that forces your mouth to fall open a little and pushes an unnatural frown onto your thin brow, as you stare at her with open bewilderment. All that you had assumed about Kate leaves you jaded at the fleeting glimpse of eagerness that still remains untouched deep inside her darkened eyes. She couldn’t have heard their yells, she couldn’t have turned to witness the freighter exploding into a dismal display of shrapnel, she wouldn’t have seen the lost chance fade away into the bleak cloud that rolls across the horizon’s edge.

“I’m not celebrating,” you stumble over the words with great effort, trying desperately not to fall apart at the notion of what the streak of blackened grey means to you. You have to look away from her when she releases her naivety upon you, dropping her darkened brow and flicking her head at you in a suspicious manner. Instead your eyes wander back to the scene of carnage that has torn a hole through the gentle tapestry of where the ocean meets the sky. She’s noticed where you’re looking, her head turning hastily to find out what has grabbed your attention. 

Gulping at the warm sweetness that the glass bottle offers to you in this moment of utter dejection, you listen half-heartedly at the brunette when she gasps back her shock at seeing for the first time the cruel trick that time has played on you all. Slamming the bottom of the bottle back into the neatly rounded hole in the sand that you’ve made especially for it, you pressure your eyes to drift away from the harshness that prevails across the distant waters. 

“That our boat?” The tiny edges of your rum traced lips start to curl upwards in a saddened appreciation for Kate’s juvenile need to question the obvious. There’s a burrowing eagerness that alights itself inside the corners of her eyes, hoping that you’re going to tell her that it isn’t your boat. It pains you too much to have to tell the truth, to admit out loud that your last remaining chance to escape this island for good is now obliterating the scenic view. You turn to face her, letting the final bricks of your solid walled defence, crumble to the ground. 

“It was our boat,” you hear yourself saying in a low whisper. There’s nothing to hide behind now. It’s all been shattered into unrecognisable splinters all around you. She can see everything now. She can see that you’re completely crushed, every last ounce of hope, fight, and desire has been destroyed. She can even see that you’re afraid, afraid of what will happen now in the aftermath. You’re laying it all bare, there’s no point in locking it all away and shoving it deeper under the surface where nobody ever attempts to look. You decide that you don’t like the solitude that it brings, and more now than ever, you’ll need the presence of someone familiar to reassemble the broken fragments into a recognisable shape. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s Kate that has landed back on the beach. For all your personal differences that you’ve shared in the past, you’re glad to hear the sound of someone else’s breathing along side yours. It reminds you that you’re not alone and while it doesn’t fix the entire hollow mistakes of all the promises you were made; it’s the only comfort you have.

It’s a moment before you realise that neither one of you has spoken for a while. It somehow seems wrong to say anything now, as you both stare longingly at the waves that fall in around the black smoke. Perhaps there isn’t anything to say. You presume that Kate’s head is occupied with the pensive thoughts of Jack or Sawyer, or maybe both of them. You’re surprised that instead of feeling the measureable jealousy that you usually do when you’re reminded of Kate’s fascination with both men, you’re feeling slightly irritated by the growing shame that you’re not thinking of anyone who might have been caught up in the tragedy unfolding before your eyes. 

Not once have you stopped to think about the people. It’s always about the stolen chance, the inevitable creeping up on you when you know you should be more prepared, and so you can’t understand why you feel such guilt for something you couldn’t have foreseen or even helped to avoid. It isn’t like those people ever welcomed you into their camp, not properly at least. You remember the snide comments that passed you by on your way to collect more water, you recall the deeply embarrassing moments when your name was thrown around without much care to address you directly, and you remember the cynical judgement that stained each and every person’s eyes whenever they saw you coming their way. You remember it all. 

“Do you think -?” She trails off just as quickly as she’s fragmented the threads of silence that stitch you two together. Somehow you can work out quite easily what the brunette’s searching question would have been, had she finished her words. But just like the reason why she didn’t finish her sentence, you can’t bring yourself to guess at an answer, because you both know now that it’s pointless to even assume there are any survivors. 

From the lonely corner of your eye you see her shoulders slip down in futile disappointment. No doubt she’s feeling incredibly useless sat here next to you, the itching need to be out there, trying at least to help the best she can is weighing thickly on her face, as her eyes never leave the edge of the swollen horizon. You envy her impulsive want to help regardless that it’s for a lost cause. If only you could feel that strong urge to think about other people than just yourself for a moment, maybe you would have gained more friends along the way, instead of accumulating a drastic number of enemies. 

“What do we do now?” You’re startled that she’s indicating towards you to inform her of what to do now, and even more shocked that she’s asking subtly to be included in whatever plan you’re forming. But you’re not forming anything. There is no plan. There never was a plan to stay here. You swallow harshly, realising that you’re still stuck on thinking about home, about your sister who is waiting back home for you. Then the confusion sets in, why is Kate asking you of all people to tell her what to do? The Kate you know hates exactly that and generally as a rule even goes against doing what she’s told. But as you watch her quietly looking out across the water’s edge, you come to understand that she misses that thrill of going against someone, and as much as Kate argues for her independence, she’s become too reliant on the group comradeship that she’s grown accustomed to. Besides, Jack isn’t here to do it for her; you notice with a distasteful scoff, so naturally you’re the only one here to step into his shoes.

You have no intention of answering her question, instead opting for the bottle that still sits in its place in the sand. She turns to watch you with a scrupulous frown pointing itself on her brow, clearly showing her distain for your careless attitude. But what are you supposed to do? There’s nothing that you can do. “Are you just going to sit here and drink yourself stupid?” Her voice rises with a particularly condescending tone that doesn’t come kindly to your ears. You narrow your eyes back at her while taking another gulp from the bottle and you hear her click her tongue at you in disgust for ignoring her. What does it matter to her if you do? You already know that you’re not strong enough to lead anyone anywhere, you’ve never been the leader, always shying away from the responsibility because you know you can’t carry its dead weight on your shoulders.

She’s huffing loudly, rocking gently against her knees while stealing glances at you full of distain. You choose to carry on ignoring her, finding the basic comfort in her quiet presence and the warmth of the bottle hanging loosely between your fingers. It’s enough for now. Abruptly the glass is snatched away from your fingers before your lips get another taste of the sweet liquid, and a nasty frown settles unwelcomingly on your brow at her for taking its comforting embrace away from you. 

You have no option but to watch her, your mute curiosity toying with the need to taste the sweet rum again. You half expect Kate to throw the bottle down towards the fast eroding shoreline judging from the stern scowl that has appeared on her pale face. Instead you’re mildly surprised and even slightly amused when the young brunette pushes the glass bottle to her own lips, the sticky liquid sloshing from side to side as she takes several long gulps. 

You don’t say anything, although you can tell from her long, directed gaze that she’s waiting for you to say something to her, maybe to remind her of her own condescending tone that she had previously used with you for drinking. You turn away from her instead, the last remnants of a dismal smile left hanging unconvincingly on your lips. She takes it as a silent invitation to keep the bottle for a moment or two, drinking from it casually.

There’s no need to question why she’s joined you in sharing the last of the rum, because you’re doing the exact same thing. The only difference is who you’re drinking for. For Kate, you’re almost certain that she’s drinking in respect to her friends on the freighter, especially for Jack and Sawyer. But for you, you’re drinking for your sister, the person you know you’ll never get to see again. You’ve finally resided in the fact that it will never happen for you again. For some unknown reason, you know you’ll never get to leave, because the island won’t let you leave.

“Ironic that we should be the ones left.” You’re slow to react to her mumbled words. Your head barely moves in acknowledging the strange notion that out of all the people you could have been stuck with, you’re stuck with Kate. The time of rusted cages and playing prisoner and guard seem so very far away, yet she’s still unwilling to relieve you of your burdening guilt. You took no pleasure in any of it, but somehow Kate has got herself to believe the opposite and you have no idea how to change her narrowed perspective. Does it even matter if she knew the truth? 

“You haven’t asked me why I’m here.” This time you do turn slowly to meet her inquisitive eyes. She’s intrigued, you can tell, and you know from past experience that the brunette can’t let some things lie. You shrug your shoulders loosely at her, unable to fully understand why she needs to know the answer to that. Her fixed stare becomes awkward on you, itching your skin to the point you know you can’t afford to ignore her any longer.

“I guess I don’t want to know,” you tell her flatly with a small sigh. You’re simply not in the right mood to start exchanging long winded stories, you much preferred the drawn out silence that had blanketed you before. But then you quickly realise that Kate has never been one for long winded stories, in fact for her the plainer the details the better it is. You don’t pretend to comprehend why she feels the need to break the thoughtful stillness. 

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” You fail miserably at hiding your distinct bewilderment, as the left side of your mouth curls into that familiar fractional smile that you’re so used to showing in times of uncertainty. It’s one of the very few times that you’re actually genuinely baffled, and yet Kate doesn’t seem to be convinced. Her eyes have frosted over slightly, her natural instinct kicking in and assuming that your honesty is nothing more than a denial act. Of course you won’t blame her for it. In fact you’re strangely aware that you’re envy of her for it, even feeling the stabbing jealousy twist violently in your stomach because of it.

She smirks with a shadow of disappointment resting on her lips, clearly offended that you’ve renounced the respect of instantly knowing what she’s thinking. It still doesn’t help you in understanding what it is you’re being accused of thinking. You have no idea. You never have when it comes to Kate. You just suppose that you gave up trying with her along the way when you realised that you no longer had to carry out Ben’s ruthlessness. Like any of that matters anymore. 

You allow your eyes to fall back across the heavily stained sky, watching the pockets of grey seep into the pale blue behind it. It doesn’t change anything, you remind yourself hastily, Kate is still sat beside you on the beach you swore you’d never see again. 

“It’s not because of who I am, what I’ve done,” she speaks softly, almost too softly for you to clearly hear over the audible whispers that nip at the shore’s sandy line. You breathe in a deep lungful of salty air through your nose, calming the awkwardness that is pulling frantically at your nerves. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t feel right bearing witness to her desperate confessions, simply because there isn’t anyone else here to listen to them. You figure it’s because he isn’t here, Jack, to strip the truth from Kate’s soul like he normally does. But still you’re not Jack. You’re not qualified to take his place. 

“It was going down, the helicopter,” she continues much less to your dying patience. You’ve been patient for far too long, yet even as close as you are to finally cracking, you’re unable to completely break down. “I had to jump.” You can hear the stumble in her voice where the saddened sincerity clouds it. You suppose she doesn’t want sympathy, least of all from you, she just needs to tell someone, probably to justify it to herself that none of this is her fault, which it isn’t. So you remain tactfully silent, only moving slowly to retrieve the glass bottle from her hand, before taking another sip from its sweetened contents. 

“Maybe I was supposed to stay on it, the helicopter I mean.” You blink your eyes slowly with indifference at her strange comment, before glancing across at her solemnly. Kate’s eyes are glazed over with a new wetness, carefully glinting in the full view of the sun. “Maybe you weren’t,” you offer weakly, causing her to share your gaze abruptly. The sharpness of her frown makes you swallow back your comment, but of course it’s too late, it’s always too late. 

“And you,” she flicks her head a little in your direction, as she takes the bottle from your hands, “you weren’t meant to stay here on this island?” Her voice has a mild demanding tone to it, almost as if she’s asking you, but of course there isn’t a question. Kate never bothers to ask a question when she already knows the answer to it. “I wasn’t meant to do a lot of things,” you scoff lightly under your breath before scanning your eyes once more across the ocean’s moving patterns. 

It startles you that she’s swallowed your ambiguity wholly, even though it clearly doesn’t satisfy her to know that you’re casually brushing it off with a less than meaningful comment. You take the bottle again, but this time her hands tighten around it for a moment, her eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun at you. “Join the club,” she speaks slowly, almost snarling at you, before releasing her grip and allowing you to take the rum back. 

Her darkened meaning is sticking in your throat, making it harder to breathe properly, and the delicate sweetness of the rum doesn’t improve your chances of making the difficulty go away. Not only does Kate not want your sympathy, but she’s not going to break her habit of giving you any either. She doesn’t want to strike a resemblance between the two of you. Just from her bitter tone you can tell that she despises the borderline similarities that cut between both of you. Not that you care. At least you have someone here with you, even if it is Kate. 

“What do we do now?” You suddenly have the incredible urge to laugh loudly at the open question she’s repeated for the second time now. How are you supposed to know? You don’t even care at this moment in time what happens now. Your mind is still occupied with the grief you bare for the last remaining chance to escape. You manage to hold your laughter in, glaring back at her instead with a rather vacant expression sitting motionlessly on top of your true face. 

“I’m not Jack,” you inform her smoothly. Her jaw is tightening while her eyes glow with a frenzied vividness. She leans over and snatches the glass bottle from your loose grip, probably hoping to catch you off guard, but she should know by now that nothing fazes you anymore. 

“Don’t talk about Jack,” her teeth are gritted through her threatening voice, and you quietly turn back to look out across the ocean. You always knew that Jack means a lot to Kate, but for some reason you hate being reminded of it. She also knows that you can tell her every single detail about Jack’s life, because you’ve already played that card with Kate and you remember it cutting deep for the brunette. She obviously doesn’t like it when you know more than her, especially about someone she cares about. So this time you oblige willingly in not talking about Jack. 

She thinks he’s dead. The tears that stain her pale cheeks are for him. You hate seeing them there, you always have. It’s your weakness. You don’t know how to cope when it’s someone else who is shedding the tears. Maybe Jack deserves her tears. After all, he had kept to his word in trying to rescue everyone. But still it won’t happen for you. The tears don’t come. 

Apparently the mention of Jack is enough to throw her into another wordless moment. Not that you mind because the quietness comes as a relishing gift when Kate finally falls silent. The ship’s darkened outline has started to vanish slowly from the horizon’s line, while the rich blackness has dispersed into softer grey hues. You take it to mean that the freighter has eventually sunk under the cool depths of the open ocean. 

That’s it. The ship has gone. It’s the only simple, untainted reason why you’ve been waiting patiently ever since the vivid explosion scattered across the sky’s path, demanding your attention. You don’t need to see anymore. You don’t want to see anymore. Slowly, you make a move to climb to your feet, not caring about the weight of sand that clings to your clothes, almost begging you to stay in its vast softness. 

You’ve alarmed her by your unexpected movement. Her face is skewed slightly to the left side, her eyes sharp and questioning. It’s ironic, you think, that she doesn’t want to be left alone when you remember times where she demanded for just that. But you’re quick to contradict yourself, differentiating a steep line between being left alone and being left on your own. You realise that the latter scorches a little too finely against your skin for you to simply forget. The harrowing mark that still greets your fingers whenever you touch the skin on your lower back is enough to remind you that you’ve been left on your own.

You forget about the bottle that is clenched in her grip. She can have it. She probably needs it more than you. This is the first time she’s had to watch her escape fall foul of the island’s torment. It isn’t new to you. You’ve seen this happen too many times to count. You know there isn’t anywhere to go on the island, but you just can’t bring yourself to stay here on the beach. You just can’t.

“Is that it?” You stall your feet at the sound of her raised voice. She won’t let you leave her. There’s a familiar infuriated anger that spills out in her insistence. Closing your eyes at its powerful control over you, you finally turn around to face her. “Yes Kate, that’s it,” you stipulate slowly to her, being careful not to sound patronising. In fact the words twirl around in the salty air with a sense of dejected humiliation on your part. You assume it’s just the effects of an exhausted defeat. 

There’s a progressive jolt of amazement that runs across the space of your blue eyes when you see Kate struggle against her fatigue to stand up. Her clothes are still sodden through, the previously washed out colours of her jeans and T-shirt have since deepened in their shades, making them appear much darker than they should be. You have to applaud her firm, unwavering persistence, something you understand better than anyone. 

“I mean it, Kate,” you warn her decisively, “I’m not Jack. I’m not playing the leader.” She regards you with a scurrilous frown, clearly not in favour that you’ve brought the subject about Jack back up. Not only that but you’ve also offended her memory of him by comparing yourself to him. You’re not sorry though, because even if she doesn’t realise that she’s trying to find a replacement, you do, and it’s only a matter of time before she comes to understand that you’re not of leader material.

“Where are you going to go on your own?” she asks you obviously deciding to dismiss the comment about Jack entirely. Honestly, you don’t know. You don’t suppose there is anything left of the barracks to go back to. “I just can’t stay here,” you motion with your head towards the horizon where the grey clouds have already started to evaporate. Your honesty earns you a suspicious glance from her, but she seems to share your desire to leave the tragic view that trails across the plain canvas of sky. 

She’s nodding now, apparently agreeing with your statement. She can’t stand it either. Although you’re assuming it’s because she can’t stand the thought of loosing everyone she knows. There’s a little comfort in knowing that you’re not the only one who needs to move away from the saddening spot on the beach. You’re back to your original thought that it doesn’t matter if it’s Kate that is here with you, it doesn’t matter either if she was meant to come back, you’re just glad that someone did come back for you.

Your head hangs lowly at the prospect of trying to find a place to go, a way of carrying on. She seems to share your heavy burden as her eyes glance across once last time at the eroding scenes of the tragic loss. You can’t bring yourself to look in the same direction. You’ve swallowed enough poison for one day. Instead you start to trudge through the white sand when you hear a weighty thud from behind you. Her presence is strikingly vulnerable beside you, and when your eyes fall onto her slightly trembling hands, you notice the glass bottle is no longer there. 

It’s laying abandoned in the flattened sand that you’ve just been occupying. There’s only about quarter of the bottle left, its dirty orange glow sloshing from side to side as the rum comes to settle from its brutal fall. Your attention falters back to Kate and you see her pain filled eyes are still raw with urgent tears. She’s still crying for Jack. There, you feel it, finally a streak of dampness that trails slowly from the corner of your left eye; a tear. 

You don’t bother to hide it from the brunette. You feel you’re past that now, but still you can’t quite embrace the new vulnerability that crying in front of her brings. She thinks you’re crying for Jack too. You’re not. The fresh, undisturbed tears that fall from your solemn face are for you. The cruel touch of reality has at last scraped the remaining fibres of Ben’s world from your skin. It’s selfish to cry for yourself, you know that, but you’re not sorry for it. You’re completely overwhelmed by the sinking realisation that even though you’re not free of the island, you’re at least free from Ben. It’s a hollow consolation, but it’s all you have to force yourself to move on and find another way to survive the perils of the island. It’s a shattered smile that you try to show Kate through your dripping eyes, a silent thank you to her that you don’t have to survive this place on your own anymore.


End file.
